


Favor

by taylor_tut



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint Barton & Tony Stark Friendship, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Gen, Sick Character, Sick Tony Stark, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-24 21:14:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14962295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: A request from my tumblr. Clint knows Tony wasn't feeling well last night, but really needs a favor. He asks for Tony to repair his arrows in exchange for taking care of him afterward.





	Favor

Tony had ducked out of Avengers Movie Night early to go to bed and woke up feeling no better than he had the night before. A second ring from his cell phone revealed to him what had woken him up, and when he glanced at the caller ID, he sighed, knowing he had to answer. 

“Clint,” he greeted gruffly, “what do you want?”

Clint didn’t let Tony’s grouchiness color his tone. “Hey, Tony!” he greeted cheerfully, too loud for Tony’s ears. “How are you toing?”

Tony groaned in reply.. 

“Look, I know you weren’t feeling well last night, but I really need a favor. If I promise to wait on you hand and foot after, will you help me out?”

Tony massaged his eyes with one hand. “What’s the favor?”

\--------------------------------------------

Half an hour later, Clint arrived at the door of his workshop with a quiver of arrows.

“Yikes,” Clint said sympathetically after scanning Tony up and down with his eyes, “so I take it you’re not feeling any better.”

Tony shook his head and made grabby hands for the arrows. “I was hoping it was just a 24 hour bug,” he admitted, “but I’m thinking that might be too optimistic.” 

Clint felt guilty for asking him to do things while he was sick, but there was really no one else who could do this for him, and it couldn’t wait. 

“So, the heat seeking function’s busted on your arrows?” Tony changed the subject, setting them down on a bench in front of him and examining them.

“Yeah,” Clint said. “Which is, like, the most important function. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be asking you to do this.”

Tony nodded. “Nah, I get it,” he brushed him off. “So how many of them need fixing?”

Clint shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Well… uh… it’s kind of… all of them?”

Tony faltered, his expression somewhere between irritation and amusement. “How did you manage that?”

“Do you really want to hear stories, or do you want me to shut up so you can finish this fast and go back to sleep?”

Tony snapped a finger gun at Clint. “Smart man,” he said, sitting down to the workbench and opening up the original blueprints for reference. “You can grab yourself something to eat or drink upstairs if you want,” he offered. 

Clint shook his head. “I’m good,” he declined. “Do you want something?”

Tony smirked. “Is the waiting hand and foot starting already?” 

Clint rolled his eyes. “No, but I know you, and you barely eat and drink anything on a good day, so I’m assuming you haven’t had anything today.”

“I drank some water,” he defended, “like a good boy. Haven’t been hungry.”

Clint looked concerned, but Tony turned his attention immediately to the arrows in front of him, so he decided to drop it and sat down on a chair to play on his phone. 

After about an hour spent in silence (which worried Clint even more, considering Tony usually blasted music while he worked), Tony cleared his throat and motioned for Clint to come closer. 

“I’m almost done,” he said, “but this wire needs to go into a small hole, and I can’t.” As Clint leaned over Tony’s shoulder to look at the last arrow Tony needed to fix, he could feel heat rising off him.

“Hands shaking?” Clint asked, taking to arrow and pliers and guiding the wire where it needed to go. 

Tony shook his head. “Everything’s spinning,” he admitted quietly. “But that’s the last bit, so you’re all fixed.”

Clint grinned. “Thanks so much,” he said, clapping a hand to Tony’s shoulder. “Now, I’m gonna make good on my promise. Do you want to lie on the couch, or in bed while I shower you with affection and soup and Nyquill?” 

Tony smiled. “Couch,” he said, fighting out of Clint’s grip when he led him toward the elevator. “There’s a perfectly good couch in here.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Yes, but a) it’s not comfortable like the one upstairs, b) it doesn’t have a TV, and c) it’s like a million degrees down here, so you’re coming up.”

Tony stopped struggling but didn’t look any happier. “A),” he began, “this one is closer, b) I don’t care about TV, and c) it’s freezing down here.” 

“That’s because you have a fever,” Clint replied. “Come on; up we go.” Tony squaked as Clint lifted him up in a fireman’s carry and into the elevator. He deposited him on the couch in the living room and turned on the television, lowering the volume when Tony flinched away from it. 

“I’m gonna grab you some Advil and water,” Clint told him. “You should probably eat, too. What could you stomach?”

Tony groaned and turned onto one side to bury his face in the couch. “Just the pills,” he replied.

“Tony,” Clint disapproved, but Tony picked his head up enough to look him seriously in the eyes. 

“Later, I will,” he promised. Clint caved; of course he did. Seeing Tony looking miserable on the couch just minutes after taking on a whole new project just for him, knowing he had to have been feeling this way through working on it; it softened him, and he didn’t have the heart to be strict. 

“Okay,” he finally gave in. “But I’m holding you to that.”

JARVIS guided Clint through the medicine cabinet to find the Advil, and by the time he returned to the living room, Tony was already dozing on the couch. Despite wanting to just let him sleep, the fever he’d felt from him earlier was worrying, and he knew Tony needed to take medicine before he could sleep. He shook his shoulder lightly. 

“Come on, Tony,” he murmured, “time to wake up.”

Tony rolled over and blinked up at him, shivering so hard that it was jarring to Clint. 

“Oh, shit,” he cursed under his breath, “okay, sit up. You need pills.” 

Tony was malleable in his grip and sat up when he sat him up, not complaining beyond a small groan of confusion and irritation. He took the pills and nearly choked on the water. 

“I think it’s time to call Bruce,” Clint muttered, “JARVIS?” 

“I will alert Dr. Banner, Agent Barton,” the AI replied, “though Sir’s temperature is not yet dangerous. He is merely uncomfortable and exhausted.”

“That’s good,” Clint sighed, taking the decorative blanket from the back of the couch and draping it over Tony. 

“Stop fussing, moms,” Tony whined. “Just let me sleep.” 

“You know I wouldn’t have made you fix my shit if you’d told me you were this sick, right?” Clint asked. Tony rolled his eyes. 

“So you would’ve, what, just took things down like Katniss if we were attacked?”

Clint frowned. “I’m a good shot,” he defended. 

“Even better when you’ve got tech on your side,” Tony argued, and Clint couldn’t disagree. “Did I hear you say you called Bruce? Don’t call Bruce; he’s got better things to do.”

“You’re burning up and kind of out of it,” Clint pointed out. “I think we should play it safe.” 

Tony huffed, but didn’t fight him. “As long as I can sleep in the meantime,” he finally agreed, and Clint nodded.

“Thanks again for the arrows,” he said. 

“Anything for you, birdy,” Tony murmured just before he fell asleep. 

 


End file.
